Missis at once said, “The people who live here now might not like us to go in.”
“But they’ll all be asleep, Mother,” said Lucky, who wanted to show his wife the broom cupboard where he had been born. He ran up the steps, willed the door to open and pushed it. But nothing happened.
“That’s because we don’t need to go in,” said Missis. “And anyway, I don’t want to see our home now it isn’t ours.”
Lucky’s wife, who was looking down through the railings, said, “I can see the kitchen quite nicely, Lucky, and I can imagine the broom cupboard, if you describe it.”
As Lucky had only slept in the broom cupboard for the first two weeks of his life he couldn’t really remember it, but Pongo helped him out and described the whole house. All the dogs listened—that is, all except Missis. She drew the two cats aside and asked why they’d specially wanted to come here. She said she couldn’t believe they’d particularly wanted to see the house.
“Well, I’ve nothing against seeing it,” said the white cat. “In fact, I’ve very friendly feelings toward it as it was the first house I ever lived in where I was treated decently. But the house I really want to see is farther along the Outer Circle. And we must go inside. It’s the house where I lived such miserable years with Cruella de Vil. I feel it in my bones that she’s back in England.”
“She is!” cried Missis. “Oh, I guessed you’d suspect her, and so do I. I’m sure she’s causing this mysterious sleeping.”
“Then she must be stopped,” said the tabby cat. “I don’t like the world without humans.”
“We must get into her house and, well, frighten her,” said the white cat. And she meant much more than she said.
Missis had always thought it wrong for any dog or cat to hurt a human, but she was highly in favor of frightening Cruella, so she said at once, “We must convince Pongo.” Then she stared in astonishment.
Swooshing toward them at a tremendous speed and barking loudly was a Staffordshire Terrier. He pulled up when he reached them but, even so, knocked several dogs down.
“Sorry mates,” he said. “Nobody hurt, I hope? (Nobody was.) Well, my old friends Pongo and Missis. Hope you haven’t forgotten me.”
“As if we could!” said Pongo. “You and your miraculous removal van once saved all our lives.”
“Are your humans asleep?” said Missis.
“I’ll say they are,” said the Staffordshire. “And not for the want of waking. I was pretty rough with them before I found out that they couldn’t help it, poor chaps. Not that I hurt them—I hope.”
“So do I,” said Pongo, knowing just how rough the Staffordshire could be. He lived with two removal men who called him names like “Canine Cannon Ball” and “Self-launched Bomb,” but they loved him dearly.
“Just dropped in to see a pal at the Zoo,” said the Staffordshire, “and I heard you were here. Well, perhaps you can tell me what’s up with the world today. Think it’s got anything to do with that old enemy of yours, the one who stole your pups?”
“I do,” said the white cat. “And we ought to attack her.”
The Staffordshire looked at her in surprise. “Didn’t know there were any cats awake today.”
“Both these ladies are honorary dogs,” said Pongo. “And good friends of ours.”
“Then they’re friends of mine, too,” said the Staffordshire, giving up the idea of chasing both cats up a tree—only in fun, of course, but cats never understood, they’d no sense of humor. But the white cat was talking sound sense so he said to her, “Well, if you want to attack the puppy-stealer, count on me. I told Pongo long ago that we ought to do her in.”
“No, no,” said Pongo. “This strangeness today has nothing to do with Cruella. Let’s leave her alone.” But he found everyone was against him.
The General said, “The woman’s a thoroughly bad lot, Pongo. Remember, I saw more of her than you did, in the days when she owned Hell Hall. And the least we can do is to investigate her. Besides, I promised Tommy he should see her.”
Tommy was already up on the Tractor, ready to start. The General, the Jack Russell and the two cats got up, too. Lucky said to Pongo quietly, “I think you’ll have to let them have their heads, Father. But I’ll help you to keep order. And all the Dalmatians will do exactly what you say.”
But would the Sheepdog, Pongo wondered, and would the Staffordshire? They were both formidable dogs. And the cats were capable of dangerous clawing. As for the Jack Russell, he was barking fiercely, “Forward to kill Cruella de Vil!”
“Get into position, Tractor-pushers!” ordered the Sheepdog.
Pongo said he and Missis would lead the way. Their family and the Staffordshire helped to push the Tractor so it went at a tremendous pace.
“Faster, faster!” barked the Jack Russell.
“Pipe down, boy,” said the General. “There’s a legal speed limit in London. Better stick to it, Tommy.”
“How?” said Tommy.
“Just think legal thoughts,” said the General.
The Tractor slowed down a little but, even so, Pongo and Missis were rather afraid they might be run over. They were thankful when they reached Cruella’s house. How well they remembered it and that snowy Christmas Eve when the white cat had invited them in to destroy Cruella’s furs!
“Perhaps she doesn’t live here now,” said Pongo.
The white cat had sprung from the Tractor and run down the steps to look through the kitchen window. She called back to Pongo. “Oh, yes, she does. I can see the giant pepper-grinder she always used at meals.”
Pongo now hoped they wouldn’t be able to open the door. He told himself they wouldn’t if they didn’t need to.
But it seemed they did need to. The door of the kitchen swung open as if to invite them in.
So in they all went.
7. The Clothes that Clanked
The white cat looked around the kitchen and said, “Dirty, as ever.”
Several dogs sneezed.
“That’s the pepper in the air,” said the white cat. “She must be using even more than when I lived with her.”
Pongo was reading a recipe which lay on the table. It was headed “My Favourite Pie.” He said, “Listen to this. ‘Line a pie dish thickly with black pepper. Sprinkle with a very little meat. Put a thick layer of white pepper, then a thick layer of horse radish mixed with mustard. Top with red pepper. Serve very hot.’”
“You couldn’t serve that cold, even if you froze it,” said Missis.
Most of the dogs were sneezing now.
The Sheepdog said, “We’d better go upstairs. There may be less pepper there—though we may find worse things than pepper. Keep close to me, Tommy. You can’t defend yourself as we dogs can.”
Up in the hall, which was painted in violent colors forming angular shapes, Missis said, “These walls used to be green marble.”
“Fake marble,” said the white cat.
“And the drawing-room walls were red marble,” said Pongo. “They reminded us of raw meat.”
Missis peered through the open drawing-room door and said, “Now they’re like the hall, only worse.” As well as angular shapes there were angular faces with horrid expressions. And in the dim light that came through the drawn curtains some of the painted faces looked frighteningly real. Missis backed out hastily.
Pongo looked into the dining-room and warned Missis not to. “All the painted faces in there have very long noses. I think they’re all portraits of Cruella.”
“I suppose she is here?” said the General doubtfully. “The house seems deserted.”
“She’s probably upstairs,” said the white cat, who had been practising her claws on a purple rug. “Let’s go and see.” She turned to the Staffordshire and asked him to come with her.
“It’ll be a pleasure,” said the Staffordshire, looking at the clawed rug. “I’d say you and I have the same idea, though you favor claws and I favor teeth.”
Pongo said to the Dalmatians
, “You are not to attack Cruella. She can’t be to blame for what’s happening today.”
Missis said earnestly, “Oh, Pongo, you’re wrong!”
Could he be wrong? Pongo began to fear he might be. There was something very strange about this silent house with its painted faces, something that felt menacing. And if Cruella had bewitched all the humans in the world perhaps they wouldn’t wake up until … well, something was done about her. Anyway, he couldn’t stop the white cat and the Staffordshire, who were already on their way upstairs. He hurried after them and so did all the others.
The white cat stopped outside a closed door and said, “That’s where the de Vils slept.”
The door slowly opened. Beyond it was complete blackness, from which came a mysterious rasping sound. The darkness and the rasping sound were so frightening that the white cat and the Staffordshire drew back, though both of them were brave animals.
The white cat said, “Often I can see in the dark but not in that kind of darkness. It’s blacker than black.”
Pongo, a born leader, said he would go in first.
“I’ll come with you,” said the Sheepdog.
“No, General,” said Pongo. “You must stay with Tommy.”
Missis came and stood shoulder to shoulder with Pongo. She was terrified but determined to act bravely, which is the bravest kind of bravery there is.
The Staffordshire said he was coming too.
“Then get on the other side of Missis,” said Pongo, who knew it would be useless to tell Missis not to come. “And everyone else wait until I give the word to follow us. No, Lucky, you must stay with your wife. Bless me, who have we here?”
The Jack Russell had pushed his way forward, trembling with eagerness. Pongo admired his pluck but told him to take care of the General and Tommy. “And you two cats hold back. Remember you’re only half-dogs.”
The rasping noise had got louder and the room seemed blacker than ever. But slowly, slowly, Pongo, Missis and the Staffordshire moved forwards.
It seemed to Missis that the darkness was thick, as well as black. She felt that, if she opened her mouth, it would choke her.
“If only we could see!” thought Pongo.
Then the heavy curtains at the two tall windows parted and slowly drew back just far enough to let two shafts of afternoon light shine in. And what they shone on were two beds. In one bed lay Mr. de Vil, a small, worried-looking man. He was snoring loudly. That was the rasping sound which had been so frightening. It was certainly an odd sort of snoring, but now Pongo knew what it was it seemed to him more funny than frightening.
The Staffordshire said, “You wouldn’t think such a little chap could snore so loud.”
Cruella de Vil lay asleep in the other bed. There was nothing funny about her, though she did not, in sleep, look as frightening as when Pongo and Missis had seen her last, that Christmas Eve when she had chased them and all the puppies in her enormous black and white car. But she did not look pleasant and peaceful, as the sleeping Dearlys did. Her mouth was grim, her long nose seemed more pointed than ever, and she was frowning heavily. Perhaps she looked less frightening only because her eyes were closed, those black eyes with a streak of red in them. Even the memory of them made Missis shudder.
“First time I’ve seen a dame with black and white hair,” said the Staffordshire.
Lucky called, “Can we come in now, Father?”
“Yes, if you keep quiet and don’t crowd around the bed,” said Pongo.
The white cat got there first and said, “Half her hair turned green with shock, after we destroyed her furs. I suppose she’s had it dyed. No ermine sheets now, has she? That was the best night of my life, when I clawed them to bits.”
“Funny kind of sheets she’s got now,” said the Staffordshire. “They look like tin.”
“They’ll be plastic,” said the white cat. “When we drove Mr. de Vil out of business as a furrier he went in for making plastic raincoats. Perhaps there are some of them about.” She flexed her claws hopefully and looked around the dimly lit room.
Some of the dogs were already exploring it and suddenly, mingling with Mr. de Vil’s snores, there came a noise like metal hitting metal.
Missis cried, “Pongo, that factory we saw this morning! Clothes that Clank!”
Pongo then saw that there were racks of plastic coats, just as there had once been racks of furs. But it must be some new kind of plastic. No ordinary plastic raincoat could make the noise these coats made, as the curious dogs examined them. Clank! Clank! The noise got louder and louder. If the de Vils had been wakeable, it would certainly have wakened them.
Young Tommy managed to lift a coat from the rack and held it in the light from a window. It seemed to be made of shining black tin. After a moment he dropped it, murmuring something.
“He says it’s too heavy to hold,” the Sheepdog explained. “The woman must be dressing herself in some kind of armour.”
The white cat went to the fallen coat and put out a paw.
“Don’t, dear,” said the tabby. “You’d only hurt your claws.”
“How right you are,” said the white cat. “Nothing less than a tin-opener could damage that stuff.”
Missis, who took an interest in clothes because Mrs. Dearly did, looked at the rack of coats—from a safe distance. Some of them were in bright colors, scarlet, emerald, sapphire, flame. Really quite pretty, Missis thought. She went closer, deciding they wouldn’t hurt her if she didn’t hurt them. At once she scratched her nose on a sharp edge. “Treacherous,” she thought. “Well, what else could I expect from Cruella’s clothes?”
But she no longer felt that Cruella herself was a menace. And even the white cat seemed to have given up any idea of attacking her old enemy. Only the Staffordshire looked as if he wanted to. He was staring fiercely at Cruella.
Pongo noticed this. He knew that the Staffordshire was a descendant of dogs who’d had to fight for their lives in the days when it was considered sporting to set dogs to fight each other, so he did not blame him for the savagery in his nature. But this was no moment for savagery, so Pongo said firmly, “Don’t touch her, my friend.”
“You Dalmatians are softies,” said the Staffordshire. “She was your enemy before and she may be again. And if we did her in while she’s asleep, she’d never even notice it.”
The Sheepdog said sternly, “You can’t bite a sleeping woman. It would be like shooting a sitting pheasant.”
The Staffordshire felt snubbed. Although he enjoyed his life, traveling around in the removal van, he had sometimes envied country-gentlemen dogs he had seen helping men with guns. He had thought he could get on well with such dogs. Now he knew they would spurn him. He hadn’t had the faintest idea you mustn’t shoot a sitting pheasant.
Then the General said tactfully, “Not that I don’t admire your fighting spirit. You’re a dog I’d have been glad to have with me that night I thought it necessary to bite the Baddun brothers who used to work for Cruella. And now, Pongo, we should leave this depressing house. My young friend, Cadpig, may have need of us.”
Then the curtains at the windows drew together again as if they knew that light was no longer needed. Once the room was in darkness it became frightening again. Dogs hurrying to the door bumped into the racks of coats, which clanked more and more. Missis was thankful when everyone was safely out on the landing.
The white cat, looking back, said, “Perhaps we’ve been too soft-hearted. We’ll never get another chance like that. Still, they say let sleeping devils lie, don’t they?”
“They say let sleeping dogs lie,” said the Sheepdog. “And they don’t mean it. Every time I take a snooze someone wakes me up. It’s usually young Tommy.”
Tommy fully understood that this was a joke. He put his arm around the Sheepdog’s neck and they led the way downstairs.
As the front door opened to let them out Missis said to Pongo, “It turned out that we didn’t really need to get into Cruella’s house. So why did th
e kitchen door open to let us in?”
“Because we needed to know that we didn’t need to,” said Pongo.
The front door slammed behind them all. Missis looked up at the bedroom window and thought about the black room filled with clanking and snoring, then thankfully took a deep breath of the warm afternoon air.
The Dalmatians who pushed the Tractor were getting into position.
“Pongo and Missis must now come on the Tractor,” said the General. “We can’t have the Prime Minister’s parents down on all fours, while we’re up there.”
The Staffordshire was standing slightly apart from the other dogs. It would be lonely at home, but he feared he might not be grand enough to come to Downing Street. The General guessed this and said, “Please come on the Tractor. I’d be glad to have you on my staff during this time of danger.”
“Sit by me,” said the white cat.
“I’ll be proud to, ma’am,” said the Staffordshire. Never had he expected to like a cat so much.
Missis was so relieved at knowing she didn’t have to be frightened of Cruella that she greatly enjoyed the drive back to Downing Street, through cheering crowds. The streets were as full as ever but the Tractor got through all right.
Dogs were still swooshing in from all over England.
“An impressive sight,” said the General. “I suppose our clever little Cadpig knows what they’re all swooshing here for?”
Well, not unless she’d found out since he last saw her, thought Pongo. But he didn’t want to give his daughter away so he just said, “Ah!”
“Top secret, eh?” said the General.
“Oh, I think we shall all know very soon,” said Missis. She was feeling expectant. It was a word she had learned before her puppies were born, when the Dearlys had often told people, “Missis is expectant.” She had liked the word then and she liked it now. To her it meant being excited without being afraid. And how grand she was, sitting up here and being cheered like Royalty. She waved a graceful paw. Really, with their old enemy asleep, there was nothing to worry about.